


Rain and Thistles

by Scotlandia17



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Fantasy, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotlandia17/pseuds/Scotlandia17





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

       Arthur was a difficult boy with a big problem. He didn’t have a psychological problem, no, he had a physical one. He was constantly sent to the hospital because of London smog filling his lungs, slowly choking him, and with parents unable to support his heavily doctored lifestyle, he was sent to live with his grandparents in the Scottish highlands for a safer life.

 

       He stares out the car window, watching hills and valleys pass by as he sighs in frustration and reluctance, eyebrows furrowing as he glances over at the middle-aged taxi driver. “How much longer, sir?” he asks, idly tracing the handle of his car door with an index finger. “About another hour,” the driver responds gruffly, awkwardness getting kicked up like a thick blanket of dust.

 

       Slowly, as more hills and valleys pass, almost hypnotic with the dreary sky, Arthur’s vision begins to blur, and  he’s out like a light. He wakes with his grandpa shaking him, speaking loudly in his thick Northern English accent. “ARTHUR? ARE YA AWAKE?” He shouts, continuing to shake the 16 year old. Hurriedly, he sits up to stop his grandfather. He yawns and rubs his eyes, quickly dismissing his once sleepy state. “Yeah, yeah, Grandad, I’m awake,” he sighs, rubbing his face. “WHAT?” his grandfather shouts, putting his hand to his ear. _Was his hearing aid working?_ Arthur shrugs and cups his hands, “I SAID I’M AWAKE,” he shouts back, earning a nod of understanding from his elder.

 

       Inside, he’s greeted by his grandmother. Plump with a stern disposition, she was almost the exact opposite of Arthur’s grandfather, but miraculously, the two elders seemed to make it work. “Hello, dear, how have you been? How was the cabby ride?” she says with a small smile. “It was fine, I guess, I slept for about half the trip,” he replies dismissively, putting his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’m glad nothing went wrong,” she adds, watching as the cab driver carries Arthur’s two suitcases into the house before promptly leaving. Having been paid by the grandfather while the two were talking, he drives off, leaving the three of them alone.

 

       Walking inside the house, his grandfather outstretches his arms, giving Arthur a warm smile. “Come here, boy, I haven’t seen you in ages!” he laughs, Arthur keeping his hands in his pockets, shrinks back in embarrassment at the gesture. “Oh, come on now, too old to hug your grandad?” he teases with a grin, noticing Arthur’s unresponsiveness, which makes the grandmother frown. “Charles! Leave him be,” she chastises, crossing her arms. Now he’s the one frowning as he mumbles a ‘yes, dear’, walking into the living room.

 

       Turning to Arthur she smiles and sighs. “What am I ever going to do with him?” she speculates to herself, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh, yes! Do be a dear and unpack your things before you run off. I believe the cabby put them in our guest bedroom,” she says before joining her husband in the living room. With an exasperated sigh, he walks up the wide set of stairs left of the doorway, it’s been forever since he’s last been here. _What? 5 years?_ He wonders, reaching the top of the stairs. It would take a while to remember where everything is.

 

       Feeling his pant pocket buzz, he pulls his phone out, checking the caller ID. It’s his mom, crap. “Hello?” he asks, immediately clicking the answer button. “Hey, Arthur, just checking to see if you got there safely. You are there, right? Are you breathing fine? Is the weather nice?” her voice mirroring the sternness of her own mother. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. “Yeah, I got here like 15 minutes ago,” he replies vaguely. He never liked his mother’s fussing, it increased more so with the fact he had asthma. “Call me later when you can, my shift is almost over!” she adds before she hangs up.

 

_Great._ Arthur hangs up, turning off his phone as he proceeds to try and find which room holds his luggage. A giant version of the game ‘ball under a cup’. After opening and closing door after door, he finally finds his luggage. One is laid on the bed, the other having missed the toss, clothes and personal items splayed everywhere. Well, he had to put them away anyway. Sunlight filters in the room through a window on the left side, overlooking the front of the house, revealing a few tiny dust particles floating around in the air.

 

       Walking over to the window, he turns the latch and opens the unlocked window, letting the room air out from not being used in so long. Closing his eyes, he sighs and breathes in, allowing clear countryside air to fill his lungs.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

  
       After about an hour of unpacking and tidying up, Arthur leaves his bedroom to explore the house. He wanders down the hallway he went through to get to his room, looking along the walls while he visits others, trying to remember as much as he can. He glances at old paintings of family members and landscapes, all labelled with who or where, the years, and the exception of ages for portraits. It didn’t really matter to him. Being an old house, it held more history than most. Having been in the family for over 150 years, it was very important.

  
       In every room, the walls were painted in three different colors and shades of blue, green, and purple. Having colored walls, a sign of wealth from over 150 years ago, nobody bothered to touch it unless it began to peel. The variety in color gave the house a more welcoming and childlike wonder, making it easier for Arthur to settle in.

  
       The very bottom of the walls had intricate wooden carvings of swirls, leaves, and feathers. As for the floor, it was made out of wood as well. Much like the paint, it was often renovated when it started to rot. Containing three stories, the third being the attic, there were a couple of places that were left alone. Two rooms kept under lock and key were left untouched, only revisited when they began to affect the house. Either because of rotting wood, or the smell of a dead animal that had found its way in, nothing else was done about them.

  
       After a few more hours exploring the upstairs, excluding the attic, he makes his way down the staircase, fanning out as it goes down. He puts his hand on the railing, studying the front door as he gets closer and closer. Another expedition about to begin, he starts with the living room to the right. He walks down hallways in the right wing, finding the kitchen, the dining room, a bathroom, a parlor, and a music room. As for the left wing, he finds his grandparent’s bedroom, another parlor, his grandfather’s study, an old dance studio, and one more bathroom. Damn, how many people lived in this house in the beginning? He raises his eyebrows, accustomed to a small apartment with one bathroom, one bedroom, and a living room, half of the living room being a kitchen.

  
       With little light left in the day, he wraps up his house adventure and makes his way up the stairs. It looked welcoming in the day with its nice cool colors, but at night, the same cool palette made the house appear swallowed up by darkness. The hospitable house he once toured was now more of a large prison with winding hallways filled by shadows. Not daring to glance behind him even once, he makes his way to his bedroom, quickly turning the old lamp on beside his bed. That was another thing about this house, no rooms had real lights. With the light bulb invented in 1879, there were only outlets installed for the use of lamps.

  
       Now Arthur wasn’t afraid of the dark, but he sure didn’t like getting stuck in it for a long amount of time, it makes him lose his sense of direction. He closes the curtains before taking off his shoes, socks, and pants, placing them on top of his dresser to deal with in the morning. He pulls off the covers, checking for any creepy crawlies that could have possibly made their way into his bed. Finding none, he sits in bed, turning the lamp off, the glow of his flip phone screen becoming the only light in the room. He scrolls through texts, finding a few, all friends talking about random nonsense. The sooner his condition improved, the sooner he could return to them. As the night went on, his eyes slowly started to droop. Steadily, he fell into sleep with his phone resting beside him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

       His eyes flutter open at the sound of a loud clang coming from downstairs. Jumping out of bed, Arthur dashes out the door and down the stairs, almost tripping over himself in his rush. The loud clang happens again, the noise coming from the kitchen. He runs in, armed with a coat stand he grabbed at the front door, some stubborn coats still hanging from it.

 

       “Oh, hey, love,” his grandma chirps with a tight smile and a wave. On the floor is his grandpa, kneeling as he tries to pull a stuck pan from a cupboard. “Just stop it, Charles, let Alasdair pull it out when he gets here,” she frowns, tapping him on the back. Setting the coat stand upright, Arthur furrows his brows. “Alasdair?” he questions, crossing his arms. His grandmother hesitates and glances over at him, eyes wide as if she was talking to the dumbest person on the planet. “You don’t seriously think we do all the housework on our own, do you, dear? No, no, we’ve hired someone to do it for us,” she nods, preoccupied with her currently stuck husband. Pausing, she glances back over at Arthur. “Come help up your grandfather,” she sighs apologetically, stepping back as she puts her hands on her hips. After helping him up, Arthur grabs the coat stand, walking back to the front door to put it where it belongs.

 

       About an hour goes by sitting in the living room on his phone. His grandparents had an old blocky television, stuck on one channel, the news channel. This left him with his flip phone as his only option for a simple distraction, and even then, all his friends were busy doing other things. A knock at the door pulls Arthur from his phone limbo, making him glance up.

 

       Out of nowhere, his grandma appears, stepping out from the hallway. _How long has she been there?_ He closes his phone, putting it in his pocket as he gets up from his seat. Arthur narrows his eyes, putting his hands in his pockets, watching warily as his grandma opens the door. Inside steps a tall redhead, grassy colored eyes, athletically built… and he’s holding a smoldering cigarette. _This couldn’t get any worse, could it?_ He frowns, pulling his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms. He watches quietly as his grandmother lightly slaps the man’s hand, chastising him. The redhead mumbles something apologetic, walking into the living room where an empty ashtray is. He glances over at Arthur and then the grandmother, seemingly waiting for an explanation as he puts out the cigarette. _What an arse._ Arthur’s frown deepens as it turns into a scowl. The grandmother stands there confused for a moment, looking over at Arthur, and then back at the man. “Oh! Yes! Alasdair, this is my grandson, Arthur. He has asthma, so I don’t want to see you smoking anymore around here, especially when he’s present,” she adds on to his previous scolding. “Alright, alright, gran, don’ worry,” he sighs, holding up his hands defensively.

 

       “You boys are similar in age, so I hope you will become great friends,” she chirps with the same tight smile, holding her hands together. They both glance over at each other, Arthur in disgust, and Alasdair in mild curiosity. “How old?” the scotsman asks, putting his hands in his pockets. “16, you?” the blonde questions, not budging from his spot. The redhead nods, “18,” he replies as he looks back over at Arthur’s grandmother. “Where’s Charles, gran?” he asks, looking around the room, seemingly to have just recently noticed the lack of his presence. “Oh, he needs some help in the kitchen, dear,” she sighs, shaking her head disappointedly. “It’s the pans again,” she adds with a frown, making Alasdair roll his eyes. “I’ll go get ‘im,” he sighs, exiting to the kitchen. She smiles and nods as she hurries into the kitchen, followed by the noise of more pans clanging.

 

       Arthur still doesn’t know how to feel about this unwanted guest. It would take time to figure out this man. He shifts uncomfortably in his spot for a little while longer before deciding to take a walk outside. “I’m going out,” was all he shouts before he opens the door, stepping out onto the railed patio. As he steps out from the cool shade, he shields his eyes from the rare sight of the sun. _Was it always this way?_ He begins his stroll around the perimeter of the house, a rather longer walk than he was expecting, but none the less more fresh than a walk through London.

 

       His relaxing stroll is short lived when he reaches the back patio, seeing none other than Alasdair exit through the door. Hidden halfway by a wall, he watches as Alasdair makes his way to an old shed a few yards from the house. Something shiny glinted in his hand, what was it? Pressing it into the doorknob, he turns it. Arthur frowns at the anticlimactic scene before him. He wasn’t going to get a weapon or anything, he was just getting the lawn mower out of the shed. How boring.

 

       “Are ye goin’ ta stand there an’ watch me all day?,” Alasdair shouts as he pulls it out of the shed. “What was yer name? Arthur, right?” he adds, glancing behind him at Arthur before closing the shed, pulling the cord to start the mower up. Red faced Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but the machine makes a sputtering noise, becoming a loud hum in a matter of seconds. Not bothering to raise his voice over the noise of the mower, he hurriedly walks to the back door, entering the house to hide his mortified expression from the scotsman.

 

(Next chapter coming soon)


	4. Chapter 4

       Entering the house, he hurries to the window, hiding behind a curtain as he glares daggers at the redhead. Alasdair begins his mowing, unaware of the frustrated brit staring at him. Arthur rolls his eyes, walking away from the window as he makes his way to the kitchen. _Why was he getting so worked up?_ “Stupid git,” he mumbles, opening the fridge.

 

  
       There is a loud buzz and a scream of pain that draws Arthur’s attention outside. He hurries to the window, seeing Alasdair lying in the grass, holding his foot. The mower is right beside him, off and umoving. _What the hell could he have done?_ He frowns, opening up the door. The smell of freshly cut grass hits him like a wave, kicking his asthma into overdrive. He slams the door shut, his airways closing up quickly. He hurriedly pulls his inhaler out of his pocket, putting his mouth on the nozzle and pressing the button before the attack can get any worse. He takes some deep breaths, returning his inhaler to his pocket.

 

  
       Remembering the hurt scot outside, he frantically moves around the kitchen looking for two rags. Finding them in a drawer by the sink, he holds one over his mouth and nose. He swings open the back door before he charges outside towards Alasdair. Kneeling beside the redhead, he shakes him with his free hand. Too wrapped up in his pain, Alasdair growls in response, swatting away Arthur with a bloodied hand. This brings Arthur’s attention towards the foot he’s holding. The sight of blood is enough to make him pull out his flip phone, dropping the extra rag by Alasdair.

 

  
       Pressing in the digits, he holds the phone up to his ear and hears it ringing. His wait isn’t long before someone responds. His eyes widen when he realizes what he has to do. Letting go of the rag held to his face, he breathes in the grassy air. “You better be worth it, git,” he snaps before holding the phone back to his ear, his throat closing up. “Help,” he rasps out, coughing loudly as he struggles to breathe. The emergency room receptionist on the other line asks for a location, but Arthur can’t answer. Running out of air, his vision begins to get blurry as everything begins to spin.

 

       He leans on the fallen Alasdair for support, but he begins to move, Arthur falling in his lap awkwardly. Reaching over, the scot grabs the phone in Arthur’s hands with his own bloodied ones, having heard the blonde’s attempt at a rescue call. “Ye better be worth it,” the scot mimics. The last thing Arthur hears is “We’re at-, ” before everything goes black.

 

(Sorry the chapter is so short, I will make sure to make the next one longer.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

       The sounds of muffled voices clouds Arthur’s mind. _Where was he?_ Slowly blinking open tired eyes, with a drawn-out groan, he sees his grandparents standing beside his bed. _Oh right, asthma attack._ He sighs, itching to stretch his arms, but holds back to not shift the several pincers on his fingers that are taking his pulse. The breathing tubes in his nose weren’t that pleasant either.

 

       “Oh dear, are you alright?” his grandmother chirps, immediately taking his left hand in hers. “We heard about what happened from Alasdair, don’t ever do something that stupid like that again,” the grandfather frowns. He could be harsh when he wanted to be. Arthur returns the frown, remembering the person that got him into this situation.

 

       “So what happened to _him_?” Arthur asks, bitterness dripping off of every word. “Two of his toes we fillayed, but he’ll make it. He won’t be able to work as effectively for a while, so he’s taking a two week leave,” the grandmother sighs, shaking her head. “On the bright side, the doctor says you will be able to come home with us today,” she adds with a tight smile. He quietly nods, glancing around the room in awkward silence. “So… When exactly? An hour? Two?” Arthur mutters, turning his attention back to his grandparents. Both elders glance at each other before looking back at Arthur. “We don’t exactly know, but they told us it would be today,” the grandmother nods reassuringly.

 

       He sighs, looking up at the ceiling as he taps one of his pinched fingers against the metal bar of his bed. The grandmother nudges the grandfather with her elbow, and he clears his throat. “We will be right back, Arthur, with the exact time for you,” he adds, leaving the room with his wife in tow.

 

       With no phone or television present, his only source of a distraction is staring out the window. He watches quietly as two pigeons on a telephone pole fight for the same spot. The sound of rubber clicking against tile wins his attention over the pigeon fight, and he glances over at the door. The door handle turns, and a certain scotsman hobbles in the room on crutches and a wrapped foot. “Oi, thought I’d come up an’ check on ye fer a bit. I saw gran and Charles walkin’ the other way, what happened?” he asks, leaning a little on his right crutch. “Nothing happened, they’re just finding out the time I get released. I’m fine,” Arthur mumbles dismissively, looking back out the window, only to notice the pigeons are gone. “Ah, alright,” the redhead nods, turning around as he begins to hobble away.

 

       Arthur quietly watches him for a moment. “Wait!” he adds hastily, making Alasdair stop his hobbling, turning around once more. He peeks his head in the doorway again. “Yeh?” he asks, giving Arthur a confused look. “Thanks… for finishing the call,” he mutters, sinking down in his bed, trying to hide his growing blush of embarrassment. Avoiding the scotsman’s growing grin, he looks back out the window at nothing in particular. “Don’ mention it, I can’t leave a damsel in distress,” he laughs, making his way back down the hall. Arthur’s face contorts as his eyes widen. “STUPID GIT!” he shouts, earning the attention of a few nurses passing by.

 

       A few hours later, his grandparents arrive with the doctor to finish up the dismissal. His mother would definitely be hearing about this. For now, all he had to worry about was if his grandparents brought a change of clothes… They didn’t. The only options he had left were to either wear his gown, or the clothes he had been admitted in. “I’m not leaving half naked in _this_ ,” he says with a frown, gesturing down to his hospital garb. “Well then the only option you have left is your old clothes, I’m afraid,” the doctor shrugs, handing them over, folded neatly in a pile. Begrudgingly, Arthur takes the pile from the doctor, everyone leaving the room for him to change. Muttering curses and grumbling about dirty clothes, he hurriedly puts on his old outfit. The sooner he was dismissed from the hospital, the better. He wouldn’t have to deal with that frustrating scotsman.

 

       Upon leaving the hospital, a large tension lifted from his chest. No matter how many times he went, he would never get used to that place. On the car ride home, he began to reflect on the scotsman’s words, _“damsel in distress,” he wasn’t some damsel in distress!_ “Cocky bastard,” he growls under his breath, glaring out the car window. _People didn’t usually get to him so easily, so how did this man annoy him so easily?_ Arthur rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes. At least he wouldn’t see him for a few weeks.

 

       “YOU WHAT?” he shouts, staring in shock at his grandmother. Having gotten home about 20 minutes ago, Arthur stands in the living room with his elder. She nods. “Until he is better, I want you to go over to Alasdair’s house and help him with things he can’t do in his current condition. He’s only about a mile up the road from us, it’s not that far,” she says stiffly, putting her hands on her hips. “B-but… but WHY?” he shouts, crossing his arms in frustration. “Arthur James Kirkland, that man has worked for us for _years_ , it is only right we return the favor. You are the most able bodied person in this house, and that’s why your grandfather and I agree that you should be the one to help him out,” she snaps, her stern voice cold as steel. With his grandmother leaving no room for argument, Arthur does a 180, storming out of the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. “Besides, think of this as a way of making a new friend!” his grandmother adds, shouting up the stairs after him before the slam of his bedroom door can be heard. _Just when he thinks he’s rid of the redheaded bastard…_


	6. Chapter 6

       Waking up the next morning, he frowns, remembering the previous day. _When was Alasdair being dismissed from the emergency room anyway?_ He at least had a day or two before he had to face that damn scot. Changing out of his night clothes, he carefully creeps down the stairs, the old wood thwarting his effort at any sort of silence with every groan and creak. His grandparents were bound to know he was up. 

 

       Just as predicted, “Arthur! Come get some breakfast!” his grandfather calls. Stopping on the steps, he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling silently. _There really was no way he could avoid them, could he?_ Shuffling his way to the kitchen with bare feet, the smell of biscuits fill his nostrils. “...Hey,” he mumbles, walking through the doorway. With her back turned to him, his grandmother pulls a second batch out of the oven. _This is going to be very awkward._ He scratches the back of his head, waiting silently for any kind of response. “Alasdair gets out of the hospital today, so you can expect visiting him in the afternoon,” she says tightly, placing the tray of biscuits on the island in the center of the kitchen. He stays quiet, opening a cabinet door to retrieve a plate. _It was going to be a long day…_

 

       Sure enough, the morning lazed by, with _nothing to do_ but stare at the television in irony while a bright, sunny day was happening outside. Entering the room, Arthur’s grandpa draws his attention from the screen. “I’m going to drive you the first few times since you’re not used to the area, after that, you’re on your own,” is all he says, jingling a pair of car keys in his hand. Grumbling under his breath, Arthur slowly gets up from the couch. Walking to the front door, he is followed out by his grandfather. Sitting down in the car, an awkward silence falls over the two. Once they’re moving down the road, his elder glances over at him. “You basically just walk in a straight line, he’s the next mailbox up,” he adds, turning down a long road. 

 

       Much like theirs, the house is a ways down from the actual mailbox. Stopping in the driveway, Arthur’s grandfather unlocks the door. “Go on ahead,” he shoos, gesturing towards the front door. Begrudgingly, the blonde opens his door and steps out of the car. After his first steps, he hears the crunch of tires against the dirt as his grandfather goes back the way he came. 

 

        Arthur stands there for a moment, observing the house before him. It looked as if was sectioned off into three parts. The left and right side of the house with the likeness of vertical rectangles, the middle is a horizontal rectangle, all of the house made of complete stone, with earthy moss patches that dotting the exterior. He crossed his arms, making his way to the front door. _No door bell, of course, all the houses around here are too old._ He frowns, knocking on the old door with his knuckles. He would make sure to wash his hands when he got inside. 

 

        Waiting a few minutes, the sound of a small thumping makes its way to the door. Opening the door, a certain redhead answers, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “Uh… Arthur, right? What’re ye doin’ here?” he questions, leaning on one crutch as he scratches the back of his head. Now it’s Arthur’s turn to be confused. “My grandparents didn’t tell you? They sent me over here to help you with chores until your stupid foot gets better,” he huffs as he glares up at the scotsman. Alasdair raises an eyebrow, rolling his eyes before he sighs, closing them as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yep, tha’ sounds like ‘em,” he groans, backing up a little. “Come in then, an’ shut the door behind  ye,” he adds, hobbling deeper into the home.


End file.
